A Not-So Sunny Story
by Almost an Actress
Summary: Sunny has a story. And now, she finally gets so tell it.


Look. So, it ain't like I was always parta this crummy business, right? I'm only sixteen, yeah, but I wasn't always a…well…a whore. _Man_, I hate that word. People throw it around all casual-like, like it's a silly little term, but what they ain't realizing is that people like me actually whore around for work. And it's not a fun job, kid! So. It's insensitive. They say it, but they don't realize that their words hurt.

And also, in school – when I was still going, I mean – girls'd whisper behind other girls' backs: "She's a whore." I'm pretty sure I even said it a few times about Lois Peters. She was this one girl with real big knockers that had this steady boyfriend. It was only her knockers and her boy – he was the "bad boy" sort – that was the reason for people calling her that name. But it was funny – she always wore modest clothes, and stayed steady with this boy. So, by the definition of the word, she wasn't a whore. She was just a pretty girl.

See what I mean? Words hurt. I bet she went home and cried quite a bit on account of people calling her that name.

Sorry. I got off-track. Nobody cares about Lois Peters. Well, her family does, I think. And her boy. His name was Danny Something-or-Other. Danny obviously cares about her, 'cause they went steady for so long. They're probably even still together!

Sorry. I did it again. I've always been a very "off-track" person. Teachers always said that about me. "Sandra isn't living up to her full potential." Or maybe: "Sandra never pays attention in the classroom, but I know that she has the smarts to do so." And mostly: "Sandra never applies herself." I guess you could say that I just didn't care for school.

And, yeah. My real name is Sandra, not Sunny. Sandra LeeAnne MacDonald. That's a pretty drab old name, isn't it? I always thought my name sounded like the name of an old lady. The kind of old lady that just sat in her house all day, acting all imperious, but really afraid to even go outside and see how the world had changed.

That's not me!

I ain't that kinda girl. I'm Sunny Lee, not Sandra LeeAnne Macdonald. Sunny Lee sounds like the name of one a those old time flappers, doesn't it? Those girls from the Roaring 20s with their flouncy, sparkly dresses and their little bob haircuts? I always kinda wished I could've lived in the 20s so I could be like them.

That might be part a the reason I chose this line of work, even. We get these pretty dresses and these little high heeled shoes whenever we want. And, actually, I did cut my hair in a bob.

So they call me Sunny Lee the Flapper Queen. That's my "official title."

Actually, it's more of a joke. Maurice called me that a time or two, and my best friend Aria – it's a fake name; her real name is Audrey, but Aria is more appealing-like – calls me that sometimes to kid me.

So I guess it's not my "official title."

I contradicted myself. I tend to do that. Sorry.

Anyhow, what was I saying? Uh. I guess I was talking about how I wasn't always in this business.

I know nobody really cares about my life story. Like, it ain't that interesting. But I had this one "client" who sorta made me think about life and all. This chap my age, Hamish or Hadley or some other H-name. It was real unique, that's what I remember. Not some name like Henry. Not, like, a normal name. He was real nervous and shy and sensitive-seeming. You know the type. He covered it up with this weird suave act.

H-Name had this real nice brown hair peppered with silver. It was the oddest thing, I tell ya. He was cute in a sad-boy way. Morose. That's a good word for it.

It was obvious he hadn't ever had sex before, to be frank. He was nervous and sweating and flushed. I don't think I was more mature than him, really, but I've seen more a the world. You know, the cruelties and all that. He was just some rich kid having a little crisis.

It made me angry and amused and sad all at once.

Anyhow, we didn't end up doing _anything_. He just stammered around and lied about his name. I knew it wasn't Jim Steele, because Maurice told me. Like I said, H-Something Caulfield. His last name I do remember. And so, H-Name asked me – get this – if I wanted to "Just talk."

Yeah, no. I was dead asleep when that shy brat woke me up. I wasn't gonna chew the fat with him. It was either a throw, or a no. That's a little rhyme I made up. Pretty clever, huh?

Anyhow, he paid me and I just sorta stormed out. Maurice came back later that night, the bum, and suckered another five bucks outta the kid. I didn't wanna do it – get the five clams, I mean – but Maurice told me I had to or no more new dresses for half a year!

Ya know, half of a year is 182 days, just about!

No nice new dresses for 182 days. Twenty-six weeks, I think. Something like that. I ain't too hot at math. So anyhow, no sparkly flapper dresses for half a year if I didn't help old Maurice make H-Name cough up another few bucks. So…I did. I ain't proud of it. Now that I look back on it, I mean.

Maybe my little flapper fantasy ain't worth what we did. Maybe it is. I dunno. I ain't a philosopher.

So at around…well, I dunno. Some time way early in the morning, like seven or something, it was. Maurice grabbed me – I was sleeping, _again_! I swear I wouldn't have a wink a sleep that day. So, he grabbed me and we rumbled down the hall and all, and Maurice slammed a big old fist on H-Name's door.

There was silence, and then we heard this quivery little voice go, "Who's there?"

Maurice just pounded his meaty old fist on the door again. Finally, it opened up and there was H-Name in just his pajamas! At least I had the good decency to change outta my nightgown before I left my room. He didn't even throw a nice shirt on to answer the door.

Some people have no manners, I swear.

So he goes – his voice quivering, and all – "What's the matter? Wuddya want?" He was shaking like a leaf on a windy day, I tell ya.

Maurice played it all cool and said he didn't want nothing but the five bucks that old H-Name owed him fair and square. But Maurice had this real dangerous glint in his eye. Honestly, it shook me up pretty good. My mouth was hanging open a little bit, because I was a little scared. The kid said he already paid me, but I didn't say nothin' back. If I had, it just would've mucked up the situation more.

I swear, the next part must've gone on for about ten years, as far as I'm concerned. Maurice kept saying – all cool and suave – that H-Name just needed to give him a five and there wouldn't be any trouble. H-Name kept denying it, all…there was a word I learned in English class...vehemently. That's it. He was real intense about it, too. Like his entire life depended on that five bucks.

Maurice put out his giant hand and shoved H-Name pretty good, and he nearly fell over. Then he strolled into the hotel room, snapping his fingers at me to follow. We sauntered in there all debonair-like, and I hopped up on the window sill. It was a hard old perch, I tell ya that. Plus, it was real cold from the draftiness of the ancient hotel, but my legs were burning on the radiator. Like…contradicting. It was irritating.

So I was shifting around trying to get comfy for a while there, and I missed some a the dialogue that happened. But I guess H-Name kept refusing to give the money. When I looked over next – I had my legs tucked up to my chest for a solution – Maurice had unbuttoned his uniform and I could see his stomach blugin' over his pants. It was pretty gross, I tell ya that.

But I was a little scared and shiny-eyed, 'cause Maurice only does the whole "I'm real relaxed, truly!" thing when he's gonna rough someone up.

He kept calling old H-Name "chief." Like a chummy old nickname. I was real scared by then, and wrapped my arms real tight around my knees.

They argued back and forth for a little bit more, and then Maurice started getting in the poor old kid's space, bumping his big belly against the scrawny brat. Maurice said that the kid could give a scream, but then his parents would know he'd spent the night with a "whore." That damn _word_, again!

Maurice sorta respects me, and he knows I hate that word. It hurt that he used it. It felt like he'd betrayed my trust, or something.

And then of course, the idiot boy just said to say, "Get the hell out of my room." And his arms were crossed like an…an indignant little kid.

I just wanted it to end, honestly. I knew something terrible was gonna happen soon.

So I finally said, my voice all chirpy-strained, "Hey, Maurice. Want me to get his wallet? It's right on the wutchamacallit." Yeah, I guess I wasn't real eloquent right then. Sue me.

So I walked over to the "wutchamacallit" and grabbed H-Name's wallet, slipping out a five dollar bill. I told Maurice I already got it. "See?" I said to H-Name, my voice still tiny and whiny. "All I'm takin' is the five you owe me. I'm no crook." I dunno why I even said that. I guess I just really, _really_ wanted him to know I didn't mean anything ill towards him. Somethin' like that.

And then – get this! – he started to cry. Just these big, fat tears running down his cheeks, his lip poking out like a little kid's lip, and his face turning sorta red. It made me feel lousy, to say the least. I just focused in on the odd silver in his hair; it helped me forget that I had made him cry.

"No, you're no crooks," he blubbered out. "You're just stealing five –" _Stealing_? We ain't crooks, but we're _stealing_? I dunno if he was being witty or sarcastic or just sobbing nonsense. I dunno.

And then Maurice growled, "Shut up!" and shoved H-Name.

"Leave him alone, hey," I begged. My voice was so high and quiet it was like I wasn't even there. I grabbed Maurice's arm and tugged at him. "C'mon, hey. We got the dough he owes us. Let's go. C'mon, hey." I say "hey" a lot when I'm scared. Done it since I was a tot.

Maurice said he would come, but he didn't. He just kept staring at H-Name with his big belly poking into H-Name's skinny little gut.

"I mean it, Maurice, hey. Leave him alone." I felt terrible by then.

"Who's hurtin' anybody?" Maurice said.

So, I guess he was right. He wasn't _hurting_ anyone, per se. He hadn't caused the tiniest bruise, or even a nick. But he _had_ shoved H-Name, like, twice. And…he was hurting him emotionally. So he was in a way, I guess. Hurting someone, I mean.

Then Maurice cracked his fingers at poor H-Name's pajama pants, in a real unsavory place. (Ya know, it's funny. I work in a business where I see men's unmentionables all day, but I sure hate to talk about them. Odd, huh?)

"You're a goddamn dirty moron!" H-Name said, all strained, like he was trying to hold back more tears. He kept crying anyways. It hurt my heart, I tell ya.

"What's that?" Maurice asked mockingly. "What's that? What am I?

And then H-Name – the idiot! – repeated what he'd said. And more! He said, "You're a stupid chiseling moron, and in about two years, you'll be one of those scraggy guys that come up to you on the street and ask if you have a dime for coffee." I cringed at that. "You'll have snot all over your filthy dirty overcoat, and you'll be –"

I was covering my ears by then. _No one_ said that to Maurice. Even if he was a bum, he wasn't a literal _bum_! I still had my hands over my ears, but my eyes were open, and I saw Maurice give the kid a big sock right in the gut. I couldn't hear a thing, but I could see it. It was horrible. The kid reeled back like he'd been gunned down, and then fell right to the ground.

I felt like I was dying. At that point, I squinched my eyes shut. I didn't wanna see anymore. It was only when Maurice was snapping right near my ear that I realized any time had passed. He ignored the kid lying in a curled up heap on the floor, and pointed to the door.

"Okay, let's go. I got what I needed," he said calmly, and then walked out.

I sort of cast a look back on H-Name and just…just…felt so _sad_. "Sorry, hey," I whispered, even though he was groaning and didn't hear me. And then I skedaddled right out of there.

I haven't seen H-Name since.

XXX

Ya know, I swear this little paper actually had a point. It wasn't just about some weird old client I had, and Lois Peters and why I hate the word "whore." It was supposed to be about my past. Like, Mama and Daddy-O, and my little twin sisters, Rhoda and Piper, and even baby James. And why I quit school to be a prostitute and all.

It was supposed to have The Boy in it, and how he screwed me up so bad I had to run away from the world. It was supposed to have my struggles in the streets, how old Maurice found me huddled in some doorway and took me in, and my first time.

But ya know somethin'?

It doesn't feel that important now.


End file.
